Moments
by Marky-Mark7
Summary: A series of one-shots of the intimate moments of Dip and Paz' love life.
1. Official

"This is stupid."

"Sh! We don't know what could be out here with us."

"We've been in these woods for hours! There's nothing here!"

"Relax guys. Look at the sunset through those trees. Isn't it pretty?"

Patrol was going slowly that day. The trio trekked through the Oregon underbrush briskly, but progressively slower as time wore on. Nothing of consequence happened all afternoon. Mabel, as was typical, was the only one really enjoying herself.

"So what if we're not finding any monsters. We found that new species of giant mushroom. That was interesting, right?" Mabel asked, trying to gauge the chagrin of her compatriots.

"As intriguing as Bromelaineous Papainey* fungus is, man-eating plants are not what we're looking for. Although, they did make an interesting addition to the pocket journal…" said Dipper.

"All those bones under the gills… eeugh!" Pacifica shuddered.

Not good. These two need a pick-me-up.

"Why don't we stop for snacks?" Mabel suggested.

Pacifica wasn't against the idea. "If it gets my mind off of dead animals…"

Dipper sighed. "Alright."

Snacks consisted of Graham crackers, carrot sticks, and Mabel juice, which Pacifica took a sip of without realizing. She coughed up a plastic dinosaur and Dipper scrabbled for his canteen, spilling half his water in the process.

"Here." He handed Pacifica the water and she gulped greedily.

"Thanks," she said wiping the tears from her eyes.

Well, it was a start.

* * *

Snack eaten, Dipper got up and stretched. He looked around to gather his bearing and set off in a likely direction.

"Come on, let's get g-gaa-agh!" Dipper shoved a branch out of the way, only for it to swing back and hit him in the face. Then he fell on his posterior.

Pacifica face-palmed. "I can't believe your brother just did that."

Mabel shrugged. "Don't look at me. He's _your_ boyfriend."

The palm slowly lowered from the face to reveal a puzzled expression. Pacifica "Too rich for this" Northwest looked at Mabel "Without love there is no life" Pines as if she were from Mars, but she was already skipping ahead to help Dipper "I meant to do that" Pines to his feet. This left Pacifica alone with her thoughts.

Paz had confessed her feelings about Dipper to Mabel (against her better judgment) and got nothing but encouragement, but she was still adamant about bringing it up with the doofus in question.

Pacifica was an elite: she'd been in front of crowds larger than high schools. She'd been in front of high schools, come to that (the vote for Student Body President might have been a popularity contest, but it was still a job). Why was she so shy around this scruffy, embarrassing, nerd?

Mabel often alluded [strongly] to Dipper reciprocating, but for some reason that made matters worse: Pacifica was already hyper-aware of her own actions and feelings. Now she analyzed Dipper's movements, checking for clumsiness due to flustering, blushing due to proximity. And she found it. The boy was just one face-plant shy of being a total mess around her. He didn't have Pacifica's upbringing (read: inculcation).

It was adorable, if a trifle worrying at times. Part of her wanted him to gain control for his own safety. Another part was touched by his apparent emotional debasement. And one last part of her had to stifle giggles every time he knocked over the post card display.

So she and Dipper liked each other. Neither was in a relationship. She wondered why? Had they both been pining for the other, but too shy to admit it? Had they saved themselves for each other, but been too nervous to make a withdrawal? Had they both been naïve teenagers in love? How could she stop this indecision?

Pacifica adjudicated. She jogged to catch up to Dipper, then fell into stride beside him.

"Hey."

"Hey?" Dipper asked, confused and somewhat amused.

"Hey. You're my boyfriend. Okay?"

Dipper's legs kept walking, but everything else stopped. His expression froze in one of stupefication. His hands- one holding the pocket journal, the other turning pages- paused, as if time-locked.

Haltingly, he turned to look at Paz, who did her best to maintain her determination. She could almost see the gears turning behind his turbid eyes.

"…Okay."

Pacifica smiled, clutched his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.

After a couple beats, Dipper asked, "You know, relationships usually have to be agreed upon by both people?"

"I made an executive decision."

"Oh…" Dipper added, "I'm okay with that."

"I thought you would be. When should we tell-"

"I. Spy. ARM-LINKING!" Mabel shouted from behind them. "You two are TOTALLY a couple now! Don't deny it!"

"I guess now?"

"Now is good."

"Mabel, Paz and I are girlfriend and boyfriend now. You can officially stop shipping us."

"Yaaaaay!" The excited twin threw her arms around the newly-formed power couple's shoulders and kicked her feet in the air. The brief pain of holding Mabel aloft between them broke their arms apart. But when Mabel landed, they folded over one another behind her back.

Paz turned to Mabel. "You don't need to send me those knowing looks whenever he walks into the room."

Then Dipper: "I will no longer accept dating tips from my sister, who thinks her soul mate is pink and has cloven hooves."

"And please stop e-mailing me tactics on how to talk to him." Then Pacifica added in a whisper: "But keep the candid pics coming."

Mabel affirmed with a wink.

"What was that last part?"

"NOTHING!"

"Welp. I think it's time to head back. I'll go on ahead, give you two lovebirds some time to talk. I'll make popcorn! Mo-vie-night! Mo-vie-night! Nyoom!" Mabel disentangled herself and ran off, arms out, imitating an airplane as she "flew" through the trees.

Mabel disappearing ahead, the blonde and the brunette now had the peace to hold hands, lace fingers, and take their time with a leisurely stroll.

After awhile, Dipper broke the silence.

"Am I your first?"

"No. But I have a feeling you'll last longer."

"Why's that?"

"My first was arranged by my parents. When they told me I couldn't even wait the 10 seconds required for them to leave the room before I phoned up the oil baron's son and gave him a piece of my mind. He called it off."

Dipper's lips moved soundlessly for a moment.

Pacifica gave him a look.

"What are you doing?"

"Eight… Nine… Ten. I'm doing good so far. Eleven… Twelve…"

Pacifica couldn't help the laughter bubbling up inside her.

"You complete and utter dork! Aha ha ha!"

They were absorbed by silence again. Not a thick, awkward silence. More like the content, "I know you're here and I'm happier for it" silence.

"So… what happens now?"

"We find out how to make a long-distance relationship work."

And they did.

* * *

*Bromelain + Papain- the enzyme(s) in pineapple which break down protein and dissolve flesh. Vaguely. But I didn't do a whole lot of research on this. If you want to know more you should look up nutritional facts on pineapples.

 **A/N:** The last two lines of dialogue I leave up to your imagination. Who says what? I don't know. I hope you do.


	2. Meet the Parents

Emotions, Encounters, and Eggs  


 **A/N:** People asked me to write a scene where Paz meets Mr. and Mrs. Pines, so here it is. This takes place on the same night of my prom fic (and immediately after the prom itself).

* * *

 ** _Squeeeeee!_** The truck's brakes screeched as Dipper pulled into the driveway. He turned the key back and the engine shuddered to a halt.

"We're here." He said.

"Whoo! Time to go inside and get out of this bra!" Mabel unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped out of the car in anticipation of comfort. "You comin,' Paz?" She added.

Pacifica was nervous. She'd heard stories about Dipper and Mabel's parents, good and bad. Like the time Mr. Pines' office at Microsoft had a 'Bring Your Daughter to Work Day' and he got halfway across the Bay Bridge before realizing he'd brought Dipper instead of Mabel. Or the time when Mrs. Pines nearly had a heart attack when the twins got back from school picture day with matching reverse Mohawks. But she had yet to meet the genuine articles.

From what she'd heard, Mr. Pines was intelligent- he worked in the development department on Windows brand computers- but perhaps a little scatter-brained; always leaving important papers behind, rushing out the door with a slice of toast in his teeth , taking the wrong twin with him to work, sometimes rambling to himself about new and innovative technology. It seems that, in the Pines family, the pinecone doesn't fall far from the proverbial pine tree ( ** _cough cough_** _Dipper_ ).

Mrs. Pines was a different story. Definitely the stricter of the two, Mrs. Pines always ensured the Pines' respectability. Because of her efforts, the Pines family spent so much time showering, shopping for clothes, and make-over-ing (Dipper included), that it was a wonder they ever got to functions on-time. It comes as no surprise why Dipper wore the same thing every day over the summer; he didn't have his mother reminding him to wash behind his ears every morning. And all the fashion runs gave Mabel the opportunity to amass a plethora of amazing sweaters.

Amser Pines had her good points; Dipper's Lamby Lamby Dance was a testament to her good taste in torture. And of course she loved her children dearly, as seen in the twins' own abundance of love. There was no doubt she was benevolent, most of the time. But some would argue that she was one string too high-strung, a watch spring too tightly-wound. Normal clocks ran on-time; Amser Pines ran _over_ time. In a red Mercedes Benz.

Pacifica felt a pang of hollow satisfaction regarding her parents' reprehensible training; at least she always looked immaculate. Better dignitaries than Amser Pines had tried to find fault in Pacifica's mannerisms. But Pacifica didn't care what they thought. Mrs. Pines was the only panjandrum who mattered right now.

Steeling herself, Paz took Dipper's offered hand and stepped down from the truck's bench seat. Dipper led her by the hand up the path to the front door. Dipper pulled the keys out of his pocket, fumbled with them, and ultimately handed them to Mabel to unlock the door instead. Mabel did so and eagerly ran inside to give her parents the news about their guest.

Dipper and Paz stood on the doorstep for a moment longer. Dipper looked to Paz for confirmation- that she was ready to do this. Ready to face her boyfriend's parents. She turned to him and nodded. Dipper gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and stepped across the threshold before her.

The Pines house was nicely furnished: plush carpets and hardwood flooring, decorative curtains, charming family portraits in tasteful frames, matching couches/armchairs, two of which were occupied by whom Pacifica assumed (correctly) to be the parental units.

Mr. Pines was reading a technology magazine. On the cover was the newest computer model from a competing brand. His glasses, while minus the geeky tape in the middle, were still rather large-framed, and possibly thicker than they ought to be for a man in his early forties. His shaggy brown hair was creeping dangerously close to his eye-level. Paz vaguely wondered if he had a forehead birthmark like his son. The sleeves of his button-up shirt were pushed up sloppily and his tie was loose. His slacks seemed un-creased, at least. And his shoes were polished to a shine.

Mrs. Pines was already looking at Dipper and herself, only half-listening to Mabel's prattle about the night's events. Her gaze was penetrating, assessing. She was still wearing her make-up from the day's outings. Her auburn hair was down, but out of the way. She wore a cardigan that was fashionable and practically crisp. Her pencil skirt was much the same. Her heels were off, neatly placed next to each other near her feet, revealing stockings. Pacifica got a distinct 'librarian' or 'overbearing secretary' vibe.

"Hello. You must be Pacifica." She said, cutting off Mabel mid-sentence. Her words didn't quite have an edge, but there was a threat of sharpening.

Mr. Pines looked up. He smiled.

"Ah, yes. The 'hypothetical-' "

"Dad!" Dipper interrupted.

Dipper's father chuckled "Sorry. The _young lady_ in Al-"

"DAD!"

"What? Oh, come now, son. Surely you've told the girl your real name?"

"It hasn't been a high priority as of late." Dipper said through gritted teeth.

"Well, you'll have to tell her eventually. Nicknames aren't legally binding in this day and age."

"DAD!"

"Anywho. I'm Bob. Bob Pines, at your service, Miss Northwest."

Paz giggled. Mr. Pines' attitude was reassuring. It was fun to see Dipper embarrassed by someone other than Mabel or Stan. Or Soos. Or Wendy. Or anybody she didn't know of, for that matter. She allowed herself to think on the fact that Dipper had yet to reveal his birth name to her. Mr. Pines had said "Al" before Dipper cut him off. What could that be the beginning of? Al- _bert_ … Al- _phonse_ … Al- _len_ … Al- _ex?_ *

"And I'm Amser. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Mrs. Pines' words belied her still calculating visage.

Pacifica was jolted from her thoughts. She tensed and stood a little straighter. She remembered her apprehension when faced with the stern matriarch. What should she say? Mrs. Pines already divulged her name. She could talk about the weather? No. Too boring. She could talk about herself, but would that make her sound conceited? She weighed her options and decided an impersonal compliment might be best to break the ice.

"I-I like your décor. It's very homely."

Mrs. Pines' lips pulled into a frown.

 _Did I just say "homely?"_ Paz thought with horror. _Comely! I meant comely!_

"I- I mean, comely! Your house looks very comely. The, uh… upholstery on these couches isn't mediocre at all!"

Mrs. Pines' features hardened further.

 _Mediocre? Where am I? The annual yacht function? Curse my ingrained high standards!_

Pacifica could feel herself sweating bullets. This was not going well. Mrs. Pines looked like she wanted to say something. But before she could open her mouth, Mr. Pines broke the tension.

"Hey! Mabel, sweetie, how about you show Pacifica where she'll be sleeping tonight?"

"Yes! That sounds like an excellent idea! Come on, Paz. My room is this way. Night, Mom and Dad. Night, Dipper!"

"Uh, g-goodnight!" Paz barely managed as Mabel pulled her along.

Mabel led the way down the hall. The door to Mabel's room was instantly recognizable by being every colour of the Sprayola* rainbow. In the center was a multi-coloured self-portrait of Mabel in a victorious pose. Pictures of Unicorns, mermaids, fairies and other feminine or cute creatures adorned the corners of the door. Owing to the lateness of the hour and lack of continual traffic, the hall lights were off. It was a good thing too, Pacifica thought, or else the amount of light bouncing off the buckets of glitter that surely armoured her door would have been blinding. Even in the dark it was tough to look at.

Mabel ushered Paz inside and shut the door as if there were a particularly dim-witted monster on the other side.

Mabel turned around and gestured to the walls and furniture that made up her room. "So… This is my room!" she said, glossing over the events that took place in the living room.

If Mabel's door was multi-coloured, then the room it stood as gateway to was Omni-coloured. If Sprayola got inspiration from an everyday object for one of their colour palettes, you could find it here. The walls were rainbows. The furniture was Unicorn-print-and-sticker. The carpet was rainbows.. Even the stuffed animals were adorned with rainbows. The ceiling was black… with those glow-in-the-dark plastic stars and planets stuck to it. The beds and chairs were so plush, Paz wondered if they would burst if she rested even her slight weight on them.

"Two beds? Don't tell me you and Dipper still share a room?"

"Psh! Oh no. We had to get separate rooms when puberty kicked in and I grew boobs! Nah, the second bed is for sleepovers, obviously."

"Obviously…" said Pacifica "Never-hosted-a-sleepover-in-her-life" Northwest.

"Come on, you didn't think we were gonna make you sleep on the floor, did you? Although, my carpet is soft enough to sleep on." With that, Mabel slowly fell face-first onto the colour-saturated carpet. "My dad told me it's 'shag pile,' whatever that means. Come on, lie on the floor with me! Check out how soft it is!"

"I'll take your word for it." Paz instead walked over to the bed less personalized, noting a lack of stuffed animals, and unpacked her over-night bag.*

In silence, Pacifica unpacked her toothbrush and paste, pajamas, stuffed llama sleeping companion,* mouth guard, and sleep mask.

"You sleep with a mouth guard?" Mabel inquired.

"I grind my teeth in my sleep without it. The cons of having rich parents, is having dour parents."

" _Dour?_ "

"Relentlessly stern, strict, moody."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

More, uncomfortable, silence.

Mabel picked up on Paz's gloomy attitude while she prepared for an early* night. So, she tried to lighten the mood.

"Hey. I'm sure my mom will like you. Soon.. Eventually… Maybe."

Pacifica tried not to scoff, and managed a small, noncommittal grunt.

Mabel decided to get ready for bed herself. When Paz's back was turned, she removed her clothes ( _This bra man, its murder!_ ) excepting her socks, and pulled her nightshirt over her head. She flopped on her bed and looked at the ceiling. _Paz will be alright. She and mom just need a new start. That's all. A new start…_

At least, that's what she told herself.

"Where did you get that floppy-disc shirt?"

"Huh." Mabel was jogged from her thoughts.

"Your nightshirt. It's got a floppy disc on it. People don't use those anymore. Where did the shirt come from?"

 _Talking. That'll make her feel better._

"Oh. My dad got it at a conference one time. It was a computer conference. Did I tell you about his job?"

"Dipper told me. That's how I knew what it was. I'd never heard of floppy discs before he told me about them."

"Oh. Well, anyway. Dad didn't want it so he gave it to me. It's still a bit big on me though, so I use it as a nightshirt."

"That's sweet of him."

"Yeah!"

Talking didn't solve the real issue, but at least Pacifica was smiling.

* * *

An empty stomach woke Pacifica up before Mabel. Her personal body clock was telling her that Mrs. Shoeworth should have brought her eggs Benedict and half a grapefruit by now. Her recent memory was telling her that she wasn't at home, so no servants would be bringing her breakfast in bed. Oh well. A girl's gotta eat.

She got out of bed quietly and in the pre-dawn light, found slippers with alpaca heads on the toes. Alpacas… Those were more or less fluffy llamas, right? Ugh. It's too early to be debating camelids.

She stuffed her toes in the alpaca heads and shuffled out of Mabel's room, down the hall to find he kitchen. Part of her vaguely wondered if it was rude for guests in a house to make their own breakfast without the homeowner's knowledge. It was quelled by the combined efforts of the part of her that was hungry, and the part of her that was tired.

The kitchen was nice. All marble countertops and chrome appliances. A bowl of fresh fruit sat on the kitchen island.

Pacifica opened the left refrigerator door and found a baker's dozen of eggs, a pack of bacon, butter, mushrooms, spinach, some tomatoes, an onion, and a bell pepper. _Might as well make some for the whole family._ She thought.

She set the foodstuffs on the island while she grabbed two different frying pans and a mixing bowl from a cupboard underneath. Then she found aerosol cooking grease next to the spice rack and applied a generous amount to the bacon pan. A lump of butter was put into the egg pan. Tongs, a spatula, and a whisk were in a drawer above the cupboard. Plates were found in a cupboard above the counter by the sink. Finally, as a precaution, she put her hair up into a messy bun.

She turned on two adjacent burners on the electric stove and let the pans warm up on them first. In the spice rack she found allspice, anise, basil, (ground) black pepper, cinnamon, cloves, coriander, cumin, dill, garlic powder, oregano, paprika, parsley, tarragon, and thyme. Alphabetized. She grabbed the coriander, black pepper, and garlic, and opened the bacon packet.

She'd only had a few lessons with their personal chef at home, but she knew enough to not apply the spices directly to the pan, or they'd burn to gunk. She rolled up the sleeves of her nightshirt, then washed her hands, and gently massaged paltry amounts of the spices into the meat strips. She laid a couple strips in one pan, then washed her hands of the fat and spice particles.

Next she cracked a couple eggs into the mixing bowl. Whisking was all in the wrist, the chef had said. She poured some water into the bowl and continued whisking. She set the bowl down for a second to take a knife out of the knife block on the counter, and pulled out a cutting board on the other side of the kitchen island. By the time she minced the mushrooms it was time to use the tongs to take the bacon off the frying pan and replace it with new strips. The crispy strips were set on a plate with a paper towel covering it. Then it was back to the cutting board to chop up tomatoes and the bell pepper. She saved the onion for last so she wouldn't be crying over everything else.

Then it was time to pour the eggs into the other frying pan. She waited a few seconds for the eggs to set, then picked up the spatula to pull-

"What are you doing?"

Pacifica's blood ran cold. She whipped around, spatula in hand, shirt speckled with food bits, eyes red from the chopped onion, mouth agape. She was on such a roll making breakfast that she hadn't heard Mrs. Pines come in wearing a bathrobe.

"-uhhhh. B-breakfast. I- I- I'm making omelettes. Is- is that… oookay?"

Pacifica could hear her heart beat in her ears as Mrs. Pines' calculating gaze swept over the kitchen, taking note of the cluttered kitchen island, the remains of her vegetables, used spice jars, open cupboards from gathering utensils.

 _I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. She'll tell Dipper and Mabel that I had to catch a jet home to help count some income from our stock exchange deals, but really she's just chopped me up into little pieces and put part of me in the finished omelettes, and part of me down the garbage disposal, and another part of me is buried in the-_

"The bacon is burning."

"Huh?"

"If you intend to make an edible breakfast, you'd better stay on task. Replace the bacon before it burns to a crisp."

Pacifica didn't argue the point. She put thoughts of an early death aside and switched out the bacon. While she did that, Mrs. Pines examined the pan with the eggs. It was hard to read her expression. Mrs. Pines went to the chopped vegetables, spread them over the eggs, then picked up the spatula and folded the first omelette over onto an empty plate. She also took a strip of bacon from the cooling plate.

Next, she pulled a fork out of a counter drawer, and took a bite of the omelette. Then some of the bacon. The sizzling of the frying pan was the only sound in the room as the matriarch sampled Pacifica's cooking. Finally, she swallowed.

"Well, well, well. At least you can cook. Dipper may have better taste than I thought." Mrs. Pines turned around. "Well, then. Let's finish up."

Pacifica breathed a sigh of relief. Together, Mrs. Pines and Pacifica made four more omelettes and a full platter of bacon before the rest of the family woke up. After all the plates and cutlery were set, Mrs. Pines and Pacifica sat at two spots at the table, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

 _Come on, guys! Wake up!_

"Just so you know, it's not traditional for people to arrive and insult their partner's parents' interior decorating. You didn't make a very good first impression last night."

Pacifica gulped.

"Your second impression, however, makes up for that. Would you like to start again? Try to 'get off on the right foot,' as it were?"

Pacifica was relieved. "I… Yes, please."

Mrs. Pines sat back, and gestured to her. Pacifica was confused for just a second.

 _Oh. Start again. Like, right now._

"Hello, Mrs. Pines. My name is Pacifica Northwest. I'm 18-years-old and currently dating your son. Do I have your approval?"

Mrs. Pines assessed Pacifica a second longer before replying, "Yes, you do. And please, call me Amser."

Paz smiled. "Amser. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

And so it was that, when Dipper, Mabel, and Bob Pines finally lurched into the dining room, sleepy-eyed and bed-headed, they found Amser and Paz laughing together at some unknown joke.

"What… happened… here?" Dipper asked, a little weakly on a Sunday morning.

Mrs. Pines was the one to answer.

"Oh, your girlfriend was just telling me about something that happened last week at her prom. I'm very proud of you, Dipper.

"Oh. Eh, heh heh." Dipper reached up and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "It was nothing, I'm sure. Just me being me." He was being modest. "What did she tell you?"

"Just something about a bully and a bear. Nothing to worry about. Sit down and have breakfast, why don't you?"

"Thanks, mom!" Mabel said as she slid into a chair next to Pacifica. She took a couple bits and shut her eyes in bliss. "Is'sh sho goodh! How do 'ou do et?" She praised around chipmunk cheeks.

"Actually, it was Pacifica that made breakfast for us all this morning. And Mabel, don't talk with your mouth full."

Everyone's eyes turned to Paz, and it was her turn to act modest.

"Really, it's nothing. A simple omelette recipe. Only took me three tries to get it right at home. Nothing newspaper worthy."

The men of the family tried the food in front of them. Their eyes bugged and they started scooping it into their mouths as if they couldn't get enough.

"Wha' ar 'oo tocki a'out Paz? Des ish erishus!" Dipper articulated.

Bob Just grunted affirmatively.

Pacifica smiled at Mrs. Pines. Amser smiled back. Something told her a day of shopping wasn't totally out-of-the-question. The new day gave her a new start, and possibly a new friend. Mabel was right; Mrs. Pines would like her. Paz was going to make sure of it.

* * *

*A nod to the speculation that Dipper's real name is Alex, since Alex Hirsch based the main characters off of himself and his sister.

*Sprayola: makers of fine spray-on paint supplies since fictional 2016. Definitely _not_ a spoof of Crayola, my favourite art supplier of all time, with their quality coulours and lasting equipment. What? No this isn't a plug!

*Retrieved from the helicopter after the prom, once a better landing zone was found.

*Hand-made and sent via snail-mail, courtesy of Mabel in her spare time after the Weirdmageddon fiasco.

*1:30 a.m.? More like early _morning_. Hey-O!

 **A/N:** I've been told that my writing style may get confusing or bemusing at times. If you are confused about a phrase or metaphor, please don't hesitate to ask me about it. I'd love to explain it for clarity.

Out of habit, I try to emulate the brilliant writings of Terry Pratchett (God rest his soul). His works are modern masterpieces and I consider him a modern philosopher. He really makes his readers think about what he's saying. It's simultaneously stimulating and spellbinding. I highly suggest his Discworld series if you haven't read anything by him.


End file.
